


Rise of The Cardinal

by LittleSpider



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Blood, Bullying, Cardinal Copia as a child, Child On Child Violence, Choking, Corporal Punishment, Ghouls being ghouls, I suppose you could call this a prequel of prequelle, Jesus Christ we don't deserve Sister Imperator, M/M, Manipulation, Mothering Sister Imperator, Murder, Nudity, Prayer, Préquelle, Reverence, Seven Deadly Sins, Sins, Songfic, Swearing, VERY irreverant catholic comparisons, Violence, baby cardinal copia, banter between Emeritus III and Copia, child swearing, even satanic ones, garroting, in which case I'm like why are you here it's ghost why do you need me to tag that shit?, is it cannibalism?, kids suck, maternal sister imperator, not the sexy kind either, shower, unless youre into that shit in which case you do you, what a bae, wrath - Freeform, younger sister imperator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpider/pseuds/LittleSpider
Summary: Before Cardinal Copia became the successor to the late Papa III, he was a humble cardinal to the clergy.But every man has a beginning.This four chapter fic charts the rise of the Cardinal from child to acting head of the church.





	1. Faith

**The Rise of The Cardinal**

 

**Chapter 1**

 

**Faith**

 

 

He was knelt in front of the pulpit, staring up at Sister Imperator and wondering if he would ever be able to be as wise as she was.

She spoke of the darkness within and the darkness without with such fervour that he was convinced if something as beautiful and as powerful as that resided within him he would be able to feel it.

Was it a fire? Was it a storm? Was it a large chunk of ice?

He felt none of it.

Just himself. And nothing more.

Still, he stared at her, enraptured by her every word, the way she gestured with her fist, the way she gestured at the silver masked ghouls that sat in the front row of the congregation at the pews and the way that the she got the rest of the church riled up into a frenzy.

As much as he knew he shouldn't think it. Papa was merely a warm up act compared to Sister Imperator's powerful sermons and lectures.

Soon, Papa came in and addressed the congregation.

Giving them the sermon on the sin of wrath and how they should work to incorperate it into their every day life, to feed it within them.

He had felt the feeling of anger inside him. When the other boys would smear rat droppings on his pillow, or throw his nightshirt into the cold water of the toilet and then leave it on his bed.

Or when they drew pictures of him as a rat-boy on the blackboard during lessons. But he never felt inclined to act on it.

What was the point?

During the mass, Papa, flanked by his ghouls lay blessings on them all. And as Papa's hands brushed the top of his head, he waited again to feel the rush of heat that everyone else exclaimed they felt as they received the spirit of the dark one upon them.

He felt nothing. Just the Papa's shaking hands.

Disappointing.

Sitting there as the rest of the congretation were dismissed, he tried to console himself with being able to run to the library after the service and digest books until it was time for bed and the rest of the boys in the orphanage were asleep.

He didn't want to face them, and if he was fast enough, he might be able to slip his nightshirt on under his robes to protect it.

“Hey, ratface.” he heard behind him, the breath of the older boy on his neck. “Guess who i'm going to take my wrath out on tonight?”

He kept silent. Any answer would be the wrong one.

“Rat face.” he continued, his breath now hot and moist on the fine hairs of his neck. “I said Guess who I'm going to take my wrath out on tonight?”

He couldn't help himself.

He turned around, his white eye bright, its pupil pinprick thin as adrenaline filled his system. He had nothing to say, but his white eye was something of a blessing. Like the Papa, he had been blessed with it too and it struck fear into them when he did it just right.

Not this time though.

Before he knew it, the other boy, Lars was on top of him, beating him. Hard, bony fists reigned down on him, punching tender flesh as other boys laughed and cheered, trying to jostle to join in.

“Kick him!”

“Fuck him up, Lars!”

“Beat his ass!”

He made himself as small as he could, hiding his face as he grit his teeth and bit down on his lip to feel a greater pain to make the others seem smaller.

Just then,  _Mercy_.

“Boys!” called the house matron. “Come on, recreational hour.”

The boys ran away, not before Lars spat in his face.

“Ugly cunt.” he snarled and ran out with the others.

He managed to unfurl himself and getting to his feet, feeling his bones protest, his muscles ache and slide around like knots in a bag, and his nose begin to stream.

He touched his nose and inspected the finger.

Blood.

He wiped his nose on his black sleeve and limped to the library, found a good spot where he would neither be detected nor bothered and pulled a book off the shelf, curled up with the large, dusty and musty tome on his thighs, he tried very hard not to cry.

But a nine year old boy doesn't have much by way of resolve when it comes to not crying when in pain.

Hunched over the book with it's old latin and vellum pages, he sobbed into the leather cover, his lips wrapped around the leather spine to stop the sound from coming out, he shook.

Pain, and something cold inside him.

Not hot.

He whispered a prayer.

“Dark father, come onto me, and smite my enemies. Baptise me with their blood and I will serve you in darkness for all time.”

Feeling nothing more than the coldness inside him, even  _Lucifer_  had abandoned him.

This time, he could not hold back the moaning of his cries and sobbed unabashedly into the book.

“What is all of this?” came the voice of comfort.

Looking up swiftly, his bloody snot and tear stained freckled face looked up into the face of Sister Imperator, her hands crossed over one another in front of her, her soft face tilted in compassionate curiosity.

He scrambled off of the bench, leaving the book behind and kneeling at her skirts, holding them.

“ _Seester_...” he purred thickly. “Forgive me, I'm sorry. I know that crying is weakness.”

She paused and for a moment, he thought she was going to strike him, but instead, she knelt down to his level, and using her skirt hem wiped the blood and snot from under his nose.

“Dearest child...what makes you cry?”

He could have disolved into fresh tears, but swallowed it down.

“...the boys beat me, because they say that I am weak. They tell me satan has no use for a rat when he commands armies of beasts.”

She tutted and clucked.

“That is not true.”

He looked at her, tilting his head so that his white eye was reflected in the candle light.

“...No?”

“No. The black death, bubonic plague spread through europe on fleas that rode on the backs of rats...not once, but twice.”

He blinked, tears clinging to thick black lashes.

“...rats?”

She nodded sagely.

“The deadliest disease, taking millions to the grave, rode on the back of rats.”

He gave a watery chuckle, before sniffing and looking down at his scuffed shoes.

“Why did they beat, you child?” she asked.

“...They  _hate_  me.”

“Do you  _hate_  them?” she asked.

He nodded eagerly.

“Of course. But...I do nothing.” he replied. “I don't desire to hurt them, but I want them to hurt. I feel...coldness inside me. Like ice, that is expanding within me. I feel cold to it.”

He looked to her.

“ _Seester_ , what if I never feel truly angry? What if I never feel rage within me? What if I can never truly feel wrath?”

She ran her hand over his head, sweeping the brown undtidy hair back so that his eyes were cleared.

“...Stand tall, stand proud, and wait.  _He_  has a job for you, child. I know he does. And when he comes calling, you need to be ready. So study, and learn. Yes?”

He nodded and sniffed again and she stood.

“Now. Let's get your face cleaned up. You're going to have black eyes tomorrow, you know this?”

He nodded.

“Perhaps it will suit me, no?”

 


	2. See The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now a young man of 18, our young Cardinal Copia has entered into the priesthood in a desire to become closer to his dark Master and still he does not feel the calling.

 

**See The Light**

 

 

“In the respect of the Satanic sins, which of these are you most guilty of?” The Father was of course asking a rhetorical question, his green eyes focused on his class of seminarians as he lectured from the front of the room.

“In order to truly let go of your sins, you need to self-inspect and look within to what might be holding you back from fulfilling the potential that is expected of you as you enter the priesthood.”

He shifted his papers.

“Open your books to chapter 6, Lack of Perspective...”

He reached for the book in front of him and opened the well thumbed text, preparing once again to read through the book that he had been studying religiously since he had begun his steps towards the priesthood.

His eyes moved over the texts, and over the grey scribbles of slanted writing where he had been over the words before and added his thoughts, much to the jeering of his classmates.

Years had not improved their maturity, nor had entering into the priesthood.

But he didn't care much for them any more. Their barbed taunts slid off of him now like water from grease.

The punches however, still hurt.

He had learned to avoid them by sneaking off into places only very few people trod in this place. Places people didn't consider going, and in doing so had learned to embrace a new found hobby.

 _Voyeurism_.

He had learned that when he was quiet, and hidden away, people didn't realise he was there and in doing so, had seen many a tryst.

He'd watched his fellow classmates, now young men and with all of the virile potency of a young bull drag some of the novice sisters in there for a quick fuck away from prying eyes.

In the darkness of the room as they rutted against the wall, the sounds of hot, urgent sex. The scent of sensual connection was a buffet of sexual delectation.

Strangely enough, though it engorged him, he only ever indulged in masturbation after watching two of the ghouls who were acolytes to Papa around fucking in the grounds after a midnight mass.

The sight of their powerful bodies, thick cocks, the guttural grunts had led to him experiencing an orgasm that could only be described as a religious experience as he groaned into his pillow noiselessly in the dead of night.

  Suddenly, his trousers became uncomfortable and he glanced down to his wooden desktop where he realised he was suddenly erect.

_Not again..._

This  _fucking_ thing had a mind of its own. Though admittedly this time it had reared it's head after he'd been reliving that night when he saw stars in the depths of his pillow case.

"BOY."

At once, he looked up, his eyes wide as a thick, black plaited leather cane hit the desk in front of him, splitting the delicate pages of his book.

The Father was glaring at him.

"Father." he responded quickly, eager not to anger the man any further.

"I asked you a question. What did I ask you?"

He swallowed, hearing the sniggering of his classmates behind him.

"...I...I...I..."

"Spit it out." 

He shook his head.

"I apologise Father, I wasn't listening carefully enough." he murmured, his usually pale cheeks turning an ugly red colour as his ears became pink. 

"Stand up."

_ No...No, no, no. Please, don't make me fucking do that. _

"STAND UP."

He felt his head turn and shake.  _No_ .

_ Oh God... _

Even the snickering had stopped and the classroom had descended into a hushed silence now as the priests forehead popped a vein.

The Father reached behind him and grabbing the black collar of his shirt, hauled him to his feet, dragging him to the front of the class, toppling his desk.

Half hunched out of shame that his tight trousers would reveal his bulge that even now, in the depths of humilation wasn't reducing in size, half hunched out of fear.

He was suddenly forced to bend over the rest, his knob brushing against the fashioned, polished wood of the desk as the Father pulled down his trousers, revealing his backside.

The laughter was deafening this time. 

Burying his face in his arms, trying to bite his lip to stop the tears of shame coming, he could barely hear the man warn him for what was to come.

The leather plaited cane hit his pale flesh again...again...again...

It deafened him, it forced his blood to boil, and his bones to cook, and he reached within himself, calling out to The Dark One.

_ "Dark Father, come onto me, and smite my enemies. Baptise me with their blood and I will serve you in darkness for all time ..." _

Nothing. Just the chilling cold that spread through him, stilling the heat and covering it like a frost. Freezing his cooking bones to stone.

Surely the next whip would be enough to shatter him. But there was something more.

Something more than the pain in his arse, the feeling of blood rolling down his buttocks. The laughter.

There was something almost... _ euphoric _ .

His cock rubbing against the thick ridges of the oak, the knowledge that 12 other young men were watching him getting caned and laughing, the feeling of the priests hand on the small of his back...

He was enjoying it.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry as the feeling of impending, building climax in his stomach unfurled like smoke. 

He couldn't stop it. He didn't want to.

His toes curled in his shoes, his spine pushed out, and with a blow that almost scraped his scrotum, he cried out. 

Not in pain. But in pleasure as thick, warm, sticky cum stained his boxers and trousers.

The priest faltered in his next blow, and the cane fell to the floor as he stood back. 

The classroom was silent but for a ticking clock.

"...Get yourself cleaned up. Get out of my sight." The Father hissed to him as he lay across the desk, spent and bleeding.

He tentatively reached behind him, hoisted his trousers back up onto his battered behind whilst the now cooling cum squelched unpleasantly around his groin.

Grabbing his book, he exited the room, hearing the hushed ' _ Bye Ratboy _ ' from Lars who looked practicually worn out with laughing.

He limped back to the dormitory and shedding his clothes, dumping them in the laundry, he moved to the shower and under it's tender warmth, allowed it to wash the blood and semen from his bruised body.

He raised his head, allowing the pure water to pass over him, through his thick brown hair and over his face.

Was he cut out for the church?

Was he cut out for the priesthood?

No matter how many books he read, or how much he learned, he never truly felt it.

Not the Masters dark hands moving over his own and committing sins in his name. Nor did he feel the call to.

He was a son of this place. An orphan, depositied there as a baby to be raised in the true way and he had failed the parents who had entrusted this place to raising him just as the selfish bastards had failed him in not raising him themselves.

As he wrapped a towel around him, he walked back into the dormintory to find Sister Imperator sat on his bed.

" _ Seester _ !" he exclaimed, trying to cover himself urgently. "... _ Seester _ ...I..."

"I followed a trail of blood in here. I was expecting something far more exciting, I must admit."

He hung his head. 

"What has happened?" she asked. "Why is there blood?"

He moved to sit on the bunk opposute his and with great care, sat down. 

She noticed and sighed softly.

"What did you do to incur his wrath?"

"I would not stand for him." 

"Why are you not showing respect for the Fathers? They know a great deal more than you."

"I would have stood,  _ Seester _ . But I had an erection and I was ashamed."

Sister Imperator laughed. Not unkindly, but amused.

"Young boys..." she began shaking her head. "Often have unannounced and unwelcome swellings. They are a fact of life."

He nodded, aware of that, and ran the corner of the soft towel along his thumbnail.

"... _ Seester _ , I do not think my future lies here."

At once, she leaned forwards to catch his eyes.

"What makes you say such things?"

"...I don't feel it. I never have.  _ He's _ never been with me. I do not hear his whispers. Nor feel his spirit within me when we sing during mass. The sacrifices do not fill me with joy. I am not exhilerated any of it. How can I stand in a pulpit in a church and preach his way to people if I do not feel that way."

She sighed softly and took his hands.

"I have told you before that I see greatness in your future, child."

He flicked his eyes up at her, the flash of his white eye making her smile.

" _ He _ has a plan for each of us if we only open our arms to him and welcome him in."

"I'm trying,  _ Seester _ . I am trying."

She nodded and patting his hands said:

"Get dressed. And take the rest of the day off. Call it an exercise in  _ Sloth _ , and tomorrow, be renewed. Yes?"

He nodded and stood as she stood with him, flinching as he did as the wounds that had been setting opened again.

"...Perhaps lay face down? The staff in the laundry don't like to clean blood out of the sheets before the full moon, it sends the ghouls into a frenzy."

  
  


  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, cheers for sticking with me. Sorry if I got terminology wrong. I'm still learning.


	3. He Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fully ordained Priest of the Clergy, on the night of his ordination, young Copia has decided not to go out and celebrate like his colleagues but instead absorbs himself in understanding himself.
> 
> Until, Lars comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Whilst I am not a satanist, nor a catholic (I'm a pagan actually) you may find the following useful in understanding what Copia is studying. Please note this does not constitute me condoning, or advocating this faith. 
> 
> https://www.coursehero.com/file/15456896/Anton-Szandor-LaVey-The-Satanic-Witch-1-eBook-PDF/

 

Silence.

Nothing but silence.

The common room of the dormitory was a perfect place to lose oneself in the works of _Crowley_ , _La Vey_ , and _Barton_.

Erotic and lascivious artwork laden books, elaborate and enchanting poetry in the words of the text as he studied the effects or sensual persuasion on potential converts using _La Vey's Synthesizer clock_.

It was considered unorthodox, but not unheard of and he was certainly interested in at least learning it in case he ever needed to utilise it when converting.

At his ordination, earlier that day Papa had come to him afterwards at the party, Sister Imperator at his left hand as she usually was and he congratulated him on completing his studies, his high marks in his examinations and said that he hoped to see him reach the higher levels of the church.

He had stood there, his mouth slightly ajar as the Papa even deigned to speak to him.

Sister had smiled warmly at him as she followed Papa to continue towards the buffet where a chocolate fountain in the shape of _Baphomet_ had been set up, something of a joke gift from Papa's third son to the church.

Now, sat quietly whilst the others feasted, drank, and fornicated, he continued to press on.

He had embraced the belief that he, like sister had insisted, was destined for greater things and he would not let her down, even if he did not feel he had a true dedication in his heart to the cause, no matter how hard he tried.

Some things just could not be learned.

Turning the page of the fragile book, he read through, trying to place himself on the clock. Possibly he'd be around one or two O Clock.

An intellectual, certainly, but he did not consider himself translucent, and his modest height put him towards twelve more than anywhere, but he was not aggressive, nor domineering.

He leaned forwards over the book, stroking the fine hairs of his moustache as he tried to see if there were any more criteria to help place himself. Knowing himself and his location on the clock would help him identify others and which parts of himself to obscure.

“ _Be confident in your own abilities. Know that_ _YOU CAN_ _do it and that_ _YOU CAN_ _do it well.”_ He recited from the text. “...Confidence. Confidence. Confidence.”

If he only had the confidence of Papa's third son. He had been at the Ordination today. Overseeing the proceedings, already a Cardinal and Bishop. A Prince to the Papacy.

The man oozed sex-appeal and had a throng of women around him, all holding onto his arms and hands. He had been wearing his Cardinal robes and was hiding his eyes, so similar to his own, behind slick black shades and casting glances at the clock on the wall as though he'd be anywhere but there.

The man could have anything he wanted, and still ask for more. Truly embracing the demonic self within.

Compared to him, he was merely an apparition of humanity.

Just then, the door was thrown open and sitting up, almost startling the book out of his hands he sat back and closed it as he heard the drunken roaring of song from the other priests.

“Did you see that one? She was all over my cock. She was guzzling on it like it was a 8 piece from KFC. I could have fucked her from dusk until dawn and she'd have still have begged for more.” Lars proclaimed as he made his way through the room, making a beeline to the black leather chair at the fireplace and throwing himself down into it. “Bring me a beer!”

_He would just get up...and leave..._

_He would just get up and go to the dorm and finish there. Just wait a little longer. Don't make it obvious._

A coldness was washing over him now. Like a mask, like armour. Covering his pale skin with a coolness that was his protection.

He embraced his book to his side and got to his feet preparing to leave.

“EYYY! RATBOY!”

He faltered in his steps but did not stop.

At once, another man, stinking of ale and cigarettes stood in his path, his brown eyes hard and unfocused.

Staring up at him, his white eye standing out in the shadows, he turned.

“...What is it Lars?” he asked eloquently.

“You been rubbing one out to the ghouls again?” Lars asked, grinning, standing.

His cheeks may have flushed slightly, but shame no longer held him the way it once had. Instead he wrinkled his nose at Lars.

“No. I take it you have been out adding to your collection of Venereal diseases?”

There were a few murmurs of unrest from the rest of the group that had followed him in. They were mostly too drunk to get involved but a few were wearily getting to their feet out of loyalty.

“You're an ugly looking cunt, _Ratboy_. No wonder your parents fucking abandoned you here.”

“Unlike yours who died when they saw how fucking _ugly_ you were.” he said before he even thought about it, running his thumb along the book's leather spine thoughtfully, feeling the ice running through his veins. Adrenaline no doubt.

He was going to get his head kicked in, but at least this time he was going to speak his mind.

He was a priest now. A messenger of the Dark One. And he would at least have a story to tell in the medical wing.

Lars grabbed him by the collar, causing his book to fall to the floor, the old pages falling out and all over before headbutting him in the nose.

How it never broke, would be a miracle.

He saw stars as Lars dumped him to the floor and began kicking him. Hard and fast, but this time the others did not join in. They were watching, goading quietly.

Perhaps this time, they believed if they joined in they would need to explain a murder to Papa.

He had not come this far to die on the evening of his Ordination into the church.

Tensing his back, taking the pain he forced it into his muscles and converted it to energy as he got to his feet and pushed Lars back with a strength he didn't know he had.

The circle gathered around them scattered a little as he grabbed Lars by the neck and gripped hard.

“Do you think I was just going to take it forever you piece of shit? You pretentious cock?” he asked quietly, coldly. His fingernails driving red rivets into his skin.

Lars was choking, his drunken hands scrabbling at his arm as he wheezed out threats.

“Do you think that even _I_ don't have a point at which I won't take _shit_ any more?” he asked, widening his eyes at him.

A blow, a smash of wood.

Someone had smashed a chair over his back.

He fell to the floor amongst splinters and papers, his back enraged, his muscles tense as Lars scrambled over to him, coughing and punching him hard.

The punches were sloppy and misguided. Glancing him at worst and dragging down his flesh at best.

Sloppy enough for him to rise to his knees and take advantage.

Reaching for the Dark Rosary on his belt, he unslid it from the hook of his belt and wrapped it over Lars' head before pulling tight.

Lars's fingers, stubby and uncoordinated scrambled at the beads that spun merrily on the tight, metal wire.

Pushing him to the floor with his knee, pulling hard on the Rosary around his neck he rocked forwards, exerting his body into Lars, whose free hand was creeping towards the others, his eyes red and puffy, his lips swollen.

“STOP! STOP YOU'RE KILLING HIM!” someone bellowed.

He pulled harder and that's when it happened.

Several beads as though guided by unholy divinity popped off the wire and sliced through the thin flesh of Lars' neck, spraying a fan of scarlet rubies over the floor, and papers.

Lars body shook under his hands, and then ceased movement altogether.

It was done.

He was dead.

He sat back on his legs, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking and his lips parted and saliva coated.

He ran a blood soaked hand through his hair, anointing himself with Lars blood and gazed around as he watched the others fall to their knees, in reverence.

The blood pooling around him, he slowly got to his feet, trying to understand what had happened in that moment.

He had killed Lars without a moment's concern, without a single regret, without guilt and in doing so felt...relieved.

Powerful. Strengthened. Renewed.

Sisters who had been called to the room by one of the eleven had rushed in and at seeing what had happened also fell to their knees, their hands clasped in prayer.

They began to sing in ecstasy.

 

“ _He is..._

_He's the shining and the light without whom I cannot see...._

_And he is Insurrection._

_He is spite, he is the force that made me be..._ ”

 

He gazed around at them, the priests, the former followers of Lars, singing the prayer they sang in thanks to the Dark Father. All gazing at him as though he...

And that's when he realised. In that moment, in the soft voices of his colleagues in darkness that the darkness had been with him all along.

The coldness that ran through him, was control. Being taught how to control the rage so he may wield it at will at any time.

So that he may show no mercy to those who dared to show brutality to him.

Raising his head, he opened his palms and gave himself up in prayer.

“Dark father. Thank you for coming onto me, and allowing me to smite my enemies. For Baptising me with their blood. I am your servant in darkness, always.”

 

“ _He_ _is..._

_He's the shining and the light without whom I cannot see_ __  
_And he is_ __  
_Insurrection, he is spite, he's the force that made me be_ __  
_He is_ __  
_Nostro dis pater, nostr' alma mater_ _  
__He is_...”

 

“...Leave. Now.”

He looked to the door and saw Sister Imperator there, her face as serious as a heart attack.

The priests and sisters left in hurried steps and stumbles as he stood there, his face freckled with blood, his hands slick with the fruit of his labours.

She walked up to him and he bowed his head.

“ _Seester_ Imperator.”

Sister was looking to the body, and moving him over onto his back with her foot regarded the corpse with mild curiosity.

“You have _no_ _idea_ how long I've waited for you to do that, child.”

He bowed his head again.

“I apologise for doing it so...late on...in my studies, _Seester_...Uhh...am I to understand that I will not be party to...being...executed?”

She gave a light laugh of amusement and reached to caress his cheek.

“Not at all child. I will be commending you to Papa himself. Only you would commit murder on night of your ordination and be praised as the embodiment of Lucifer by your peers.”

“Oh.” he nodded and looked to his feet.

“...I apologise for the mess. I know...I know that the Ghouls are...a little frenzied around full moons, _Seester_.”

“Not to worry. Go and get yourself cleaned up and allow me to deal with this. I am very proud of you.”

He gave a faint smile and nodded before bowing again and heading out of the room, as he prepared to walk out, the almost hungry silence of the five ghouls in their hooded robes and black masks stared at him, their heads moving in the serpentine manner which he was still getting used to seeing more frequently.

As he passed through the door, their silence that seemed to extend around them like a void field and the hissing that was almost inaudible from them usually agitated suddenly at the scent of blood.

He walked past them quickly and to the bathrooms.

Sister Imperator walked to the door and faced them.

“Well?” she asked. “What are you gawping at? Get in there and clean the place up.”

The Ghouls descended on the body at once, a cacophony of gnashing teeth and tearing flesh ensued as Sister Imperator closed the door of the room with a satisfied smile.

 

 


	4. Miasma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally a Cardinal, Copia worries about Papa Emeritus III's lack of progress within the Ministry and bolstered by Sister Imperator, tries to encourage Papa Nihil to do more regarding his son's relaxed attitude towards the falling conversion rate.

Listening to Sister Imperator speak at the head of the table, he followed the document prepared for them with keen eyes as he occasionally looked back to her to show her due attention.

She seemed rather infuriated and the other leaders of the church seemed to be avoiding her attention, and he couldn't blame them.

The Sister's usual soft voice was aggressive, pointed and barbed, and her eyes seemed hard.

It would have been easier to hear Papa Nihil's aggression than hers.

Progression had not been as swift as had been anticipated and without progression, they risked losing everything they had worked for over the last nine millennia.

The last son of Emeritus was failing, and surely everyone could see this. Not just him.

By now, with more countries being directly influenced by the ministry through videos, airplay, music and interviews, the advent of social media should have expedited things.

Instead, things were slow. Dragging. And it irritated the sister, and ennuied Papa Nihil.

Shifting the paper across as Sister began her next topic, taking a sip of water between her discussion, he glanced over at Cardinal Inutilia who was staring at the same sheet with an unfocused look.

Not evening listening.

He pursed his lips and placed his pen down hard to waken him before pinning him with a look of threatened reprisal.

At once, the other Inutilia picked up his sheet and moved it aside.

And for good reason.

It seemed that during his ascend to Cardinal he had gained a reputation.

Since that night when he had garotted Lars with his rosary, he had a new mantle settled upon him as someone not to be crossed and meddled with and with the reputation as someone with a cold anger, he had used it to his advantage in every way possible.

Perfectly calm and peaceable on the surface, at the slightest insurrection or disrespect taking fast, and merciless action, he began to embrace the tenets of the church deeply within him. Binding himself to the priesthood and with each step up the ladder.

And with the respect, came adoration.

Adoration that he would manipulate as easily as a child moulded clay.

Taking the affection of his subordinates and bolstering it with affection for the dark father, he learned to control them and with each act of deference, boosting his ego he grew.

His ego, which before had hidden in the shade of others, never believing himself or believing in what he could be, suddenly became engorged.

For the first time, he could take lovers. Many lovers at once if he so desired and they desired him instead of mocking him.

He learned the art of seduction.

What women and men wanted to hear in bed, and what it would take to convert them in the throes of ecstasy.

Delivering sweet and frenetic sin as they praised his name intermingled with Lucifers until they lay beside him. Sweaty and weak, exhausted and well satisfied, now belonging to him, and to the church.

And now at the Papa Nihil's right hand, he bided his time as he waited for the last of his sons to finally make the last mistake. And admit that he was a failure.

The Emeritus line would come to an end, and Papa would see that it only made sense to enlist him.

He congregations swayed to his crooning, to the sermons which spoken not of promises of hell and the revelling in sin, but to the understanding that with humanity, came human emotion and human urges and that it was natural to feel such ways.

His rise had been effortless. Graceful. Discreet. And unassuming.

But still, Papa Nihil seemed to regard him with suspicion.

Fortunately, Sister Imperator seemed to understand his plan and even when he acted out in anger and it was reported to her, she seemed to smooth things over without a fuss.

When he had struck one of the younger sisters for refusing to assist him with dressing a wound on his chest after a rather rough BDSM session and left her lip split.

When he had swung the Thurible into the face of young curate for questioning his teachings on the sin of Pride which had garnered a few laughs for his daring.

When he had almost choked a fellow Bishop to death for demanding his respect after an argument had ensued over the use of sacrilegious wafers during rituals.

Each of these had not angered her, but enthralled her and he was forever indebted to the Sister for her unwavering support.

As he rolled the beads of his Dark Rosary around with his fingers beneath the desk, he listened to Sister as she began once more.

“...I wish to bring to your attention something that I feel I may be repeating on a now fortnightly basis...”

There were no audible groans, but there was unsettled shifting.

“Yes. I know you tire of hearing it, imagine how I tire of speaking about it. I cannot help but notice that yet again, here we stand. Nothing new to report.

Churches built in his honour. Zero. Towns converted _en masse_. Zero. World Leaders converted. Zero. Religious leaders converted. Zero.”

She put down her hand, leaning over, her _grucifix_ hanging in the void between her body and arms.

“We. Are. Failing.”

“Papa Emeritus III is nominated for a _Grammy_ , Sister.” remarked one of the Bishops. “That is a feat we have not yet accomplished. One could hardly say that we have failed to advance.”

“Nominated, yes. Won? Perhaps. Perhaps he shall win. Who can know. But this is one solitary award. Since we revealed ourselves in the manner in which we did, we put ourselves out into the world, extended our reach, our philosophy, the tenets of our faith and still we have precious little to show!”

Papa Nihil gave an audible sigh and took a breath from his oxygen tank, the small girl at the tank's controls adjusted the level accordingly.

Sister looked to him.

“...Papa, I am concerned that Papa Emeritus III, is drunk on his own power. Resting on his laurels. It is all well and good enjoying the roar of the crowd and embracing his new found fame but what of his duty?”

Papa Nihil took a deep breath, and removing the mask looked to her.

“Seester...He has barely began his ministry as Papa. Rome was not built in a day...”

Sister looked exasperated but did not let it show in her voice.

“Papa.” she began softly. “This is the age in which we should be rising. Ruling. Things have never been more easy. And yet, he does nothing more than _fornicate_ and _indulge_ himself.”

The Cardinal had heard enough. And raised his hand briefly.

“ _Seester_...” he began, his tone hesitant as was the best way to begin. “...I am sure that Papa Emeritus III is doing the best under the circumstances...”

Sister Imperator looked rather put out by what he had said, shocked.

But he was not finished. “I understand your concern.” he continued. “I only wish that by now, we had something to show for it.”

“Exactly!” Sister Imperator replied.

“Do we not run the risk of repeating history?” asked Inutilia. “With respect to his unholiness, Papa Emeritus I, and Papa Emeritus II both had their chances at succeeding and we dismissed them before they managed to succeed.”

He scratched his forehead, trying to indicate he was growing tired of these circular conversations.

“I am not _implying_ that Papa is not doing his _utmost_. All that I am saying is that...” he sighed and turned his eyes toward Papa and Sister, his white eye illuminated amongst the stark black of his Cardinal eye paint. “...a lack of progress is frustrating.”

At that moment, the doors to the meeting opened and Papa Emeritus III stood there, flanked by his Ghouls.

Wearing sunglasses he sidled in and took the seat at the end of the table, facing his father.

Taking off the shades, he set them down and nodded.

“What's up guys, Papa?”

Sister Imperator did not look overly impressed.

“ _Thank you_ for joining us, Papa.” she replied as the others nodded their respects to him. “I'm _so_ glad that you could take time from your schedule.”

“I was giving a Skype interview to a Magazine.”

“Ah.” nodded Papa Nihil, leaning forwards with an anaemic looking smile. “I trust they are very curious about your Grammy.”

“ _Really_ curious. And I got the interviewers phone number so that I can give her some personal Ministry another time.” he smirked.

The Cardinal resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose.

“Yes, we were just discussing how the conversion rate seems to be slowing down...” Sister Imperator began. “Any new ideas? Other than _bedding_ your converts?” she asked acidly.

“Actually, I plan to take a new batch of female converts to the lake and baptise them. Worked well in 2015, no?”

The Cardinal rolled his eyes back.

“Problem, _Cardinal Copia_?”

“No. Not at all, _Papa_. I was merely curious if your current _harem_ is stretched to capacity, is all.”

There were scandalised whispers around the table as Papa Emeritus III gave a snort of amusement.

“Why? Do you want to join, _rat-boy_?”

Copia's face did not specifically reflect his disgust at being referred to by the old nickname he had long since shed, but his eyes darkened perceptibly.

He had to hold his tongue. For now at least.

Copia looked to Sister Imperator.

“I am sure that Papa Emeritus III is doing his very best considering his many, many duties...There are many roads that lead to success.”

Papa Emeritus leaned back and kicked his feet up onto the desk.

“I am confident that the Grammy is ours, gentlemen and lady. I will be bringing that to you in the coming weeks, and you can all bask in the glow of it. With that, more converts will come and success begets success.

This time in two, perhaps three years time, we may have an entire accolade of awards.” He looked back to the Omega Ghoul stood at his left who was staring at Copia unblinkingly.

“Perhaps I ought to teach them how to polish, eh?”

He began laughing as did a few of the others at the table.

Papa Nihil smiled and nodded.

“Yes...Perhaps. Seester, I have no fear that my son will bring home the Grammy, and many more to follow. Have no fear. _Meliora_ is the most successful album yet. I have heard them singing our sacred songs throughout concert halls around the globe. Have _faith_ , yes?”

Sister Imperator nodded with some hesitancy.

“As you wish, Papa.”

“Are we done?” he asked, breathing on his mask again. “I'm quite tired and would like to rest before evening service.”

“We are done, Papa.” she agreed and dismissed the table as the young girl to Papa Nihil's left rushed forwards to help him stand.

The room vacated, but for Papa Emeritus III and Copia.

He was too busy making notes from the paperwork that had been given to them to muse on.

As he prepared to stand, Papa Emeritus III's hand covered Copia's.

Copia looked to him quizzically.

“Do not think that I am not aware of yours and Sister Imperators plans to have me removed from my position, _Rat_. Your deception stinks of desperation.”

Copia blinked innocently, donning his mask of naivety.

“I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, your unholiness.”

“You. You _delayed abortion_. You are not part of the _bloodline_. Nor is she, and you shall never be anything more, than what you are.”

Copia pretended to look mildly hurt, the faint lines wrinkling his eyes deepening.

“Your _Dark Eminence,_ if I have ever said anything to suggest that I was not, wholly and utterly dedicated to this Ministry...” he continued, placing his hand atop Emeritus III's “Please believe me when I say, I am _deeply_ sorry.”

The Omega Ghoul moved forwards, the soft growl beneath the silver mask audible. A threat.

Copia withdrew his hand and nodded to him.

“Not that you will need it, but good luck with the Grammys.”

With that he left the room, leaving Emeritus III with his Ghouls.

As he walked out, his knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on his books and notes as he stormed back toward his study. The tightness in his jaw and cheekbones might have indicated to anyone watching to stay away and as he reached his quarters he walked in and slammed the door behind him, throwing his books moodily into the armchair.

“Useless bastard.” he muttered. “Fucking useless bastard. How dare he question the Ministry! The Ego of the man!”

He kicked a nearby coal bucket, sending thick black coal across the room.

From his study came a light laugh.

“...Dear child, your _monologuing_ makes for amusing listening...”

He realised who was waiting and walked through, taking his biretta from his head and holding it to his chest out of respect.

“ _Seester_ , do you have a key to my quarters?”

“I may be the only Sister who does not.” she remarked as she stood to face him, “...I came to ensure you were alright.”

Copia gave a faint shrug.

“Why would I not be?”

“Because I, as I always have been, watching over you, _Copia_.”

He looked to her, his head tilted in childlike fascination.

“Why, _Seester_? All of my life, you've followed me. Protected me. Guided and reassured me. None of the other boys.”

She sighed, and getting to her feet moved closer and cupped his cheeks warmly.

He looked to her, his eyes unsure and heavy with displaced anger and despair.

“...I've watched you rise through the ranks and you've never failed me, my _dear_ child. I have seen greatness in your future, and let me tell you. You are going to change the future of this _Ministry_.”

Copia looked into her eyes, knowing that what she said was what she believed.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, accepting her words again. Basking in the glow of her affection.

He reached up, caressing one of her hands with his own, enjoying the contact from her touch.

“...You have always been here for me, _Seester_. I never knew a mother, but I am sure that she would never be able to surpass your wisdom and guidance.”

“There is much to do, Copia. I trust you are ready for what will come next?”

“Seester.” he began, looking into her eyes with determination. “I will be the plague on which our message shall spread. Infecting the people and making them our thralls. The truth shall set them free and with it, they shall praise his name as the one true savior. I assure you.”

She gave a warm smile and patted his cheek fondly.

“Make me proud, boy.”

“...On one condition, dear Seester. One day, that bastards head sits on my desk.”

She gave a faint smile and patted his cheek fondly.

“...I'll see what I can do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late! 
> 
> It's been mad busy here and as always, when it gets mad busy here, creative output dries up. Nice.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall of Emeritus, the rise of Copia.
> 
> A quiet conversation on the edge of a loud stage changes the course of Copia's life.

The Cardinal watched from the wings of the stage as Papa Emeritus III, the last born, blessed son of Papa Nihil wooed the crowd with his thrusting, gyrating hips. 

The way the women and men in the audience watched. Wanting to fuck him and be him, and the desire on their faces. 

  The Cardinal felt sick with envy.

Folding his hands, the leather squeaking together as he did, he grit his teeth and closed his eyes, taking a cool breath to quell it.

  He would do anything to be in the mans position.  _Anything_.

To be at the forefront of this dynamic proselytizing of the youth, to bring the dark message to them. It would be an honour, not just a perk of being part of the Emeritus line.

  The song ended and the crowd went insane. Screaming and hands reaching forwards to grasp him, to even be in breathing distance of him...

The Papa put his hand over his heart and bowed slightly before beginning to address them: 

“Did you enjoy that?”

  The roar was deafening, The Cardinal almost winced at how loud it was.

“Good. And remember...You are all fucking beautiful. Every one of you. I would fuck you all if I could!”

  Yet more screaming.

“...Who wants a song...about...THE FEMALE ORGASM?!”

If it was possible to feel physically affected by earthly sound, The Cardinal would have sworn his Biretta would have flown off.

The chords of ‘Monstrance Clock’ began and the Cardinal grimaced again, looking down at his shoes, feeling frustrated and angry at being forced to witness this.

“...Cardinal!” came a loud, clear, and authoritative voice.

  He turned, at saw Sister Imperator walking towards him. He thought she had been sleeping in the green room.

“Seester.” he acknowledged, bowing his head. “...I thought you were resting.”

She chuckled warmly, drawing level with him.

“As If I could rest with this happening...” she gestured towards the stage where the Papa was now swaying the crowd. 

The Cardinal chuckled politely.

“...You are jealous, my boy.” she said quietly.

“...Yes, Seester. How could you tell?”

“Your ears are as red as fire...”

“Ah.”

“...Do you wish to be him?” she asked.

“No.” The Cardinal replied. “...I wish to be in his place.”

“A wise distinction.”

“...He treats the papacy as though its a meal-ticket, Seester. I feel he does not take his role, his duty seriously. 

I speak out of turn, and I am sorry. I must be tired.”

“You are right, and I grow weary of his games.” she admitted, nodding sadly towards the stage. “I had hoped after the Grammy win, he may have taken his duties more seriously. But, if anything he has become lazy, complacent.”

The Cardinal looked to her.

“...Does Papa Nihil know of your feelings on this matter, Seester?”

“...He is aware I am losing patience. But of course, he does not fully grasp the urgency of our mission.”

  The Cardinal nodded sagely.

“...We are reaching more than ever, and we should be hungry. Gluttonous for more. And yet he seems sated...” 

“Precisely.” She said with a tone of finality.

  The Cardinal looked to the stage again and sighed.

“He will never learn. Why would he need to? He has women, money, power, the blood of Emeritus running his veins.”

“...That blood won’t protect him forever, Copia.”

  He looked to her, curious, his lips parting.

“I don’t understand, Seester.”

“...You will. Why do you think I invited you here tonight?”

  With that, the Sister smiled sweetly and nodding to the two Ministry Security officials who nodded back and moved onto the stage.

**Author's Note:**

> I am gonna be honest with you here. I am pulling this out of my ass. I have no idea how this goes. Major thanks to my boy Maxwell who has helped me SO much.


End file.
